


Death lives in my skin.

by bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst I guess, Ceremonial Tattoos, Gen, Grieving, Tattoos, Traditions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb/pseuds/bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb
Summary: Scythe has a tattoo. It remains hidden, behind clothes and closed doors. Even though he's spent his whole life hiding it, he still makes mistakes.This is how everyone reacts.
Relationships: None
Comments: 23
Kudos: 38





	1. Face the consequences for your existence.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/gifts).



Sam swings at the dummy. The training sword is heavy and dull in his hands. It doesn't feel like it did when he held an axe. The sword feels... dead.

He wipes the sweat off of his forehead. He feels lava running through his veins as he tries to learn how to use a sword.

And he makes one of the biggest mistakes of his life, based upon pure habit.

He takes off his shirt so that it won't stick to his skin.

The other tributes, who were talking excitedly before, slowly fall silent.

Soon the only sound is the swinging of Sam's sword hitting the dummy.

Sam senses the shift in the room. He tenses instinctively before relaxing his body. He turns around to see everyone staring at him.

"What?" He asks, staring at everyone, confused as to why they were all looking at him.

Trevor, a Career from District 3 who was surprisingly nice, stepped forward, hands up like he was trying to soothe a wild animal.

"Dude, we don't mean anything by it. We're just a bit... put off, I guess, by the shit on your back."

_What shit on my back? There's nothing... Oh. Oh._

Sam had scars that roiled under his skin, like a storm that turned a calm ocean into a raging beast. They were a testament to what he had sacrificed, so he simply replied "We all face punishment for our crimes."

And with that, Sam went back to practicing sword fighting.

Later, in the elevator, Sam stood by himself. The other tributes were pressed against the wall of the elevator. There was plenty of space in the elevator but everyone seemed to want to be as far away from Niall as possible.

He paused in front of his doors. "Trevor, why was everyone scared? Was it the scars?"

Trevor shook his head. "Dude, everyone was scared of the tattoos." Trevor headed into his room, leaving Niall alone with his thoughts.

Sam sometimes forgot that Districts had different traditions. In District 9, it was custom to get grieving tattoos.

On his back, Sam had the phrase _Death lives in my skin_ written in between his shoulder blades. Underneath that was 37 initials. They listed every person that he knew that had died.

_But that means when I was saying that that the scars were punishment for my crimes, everyone thought I was talking about my tattoo. So that's why the Careers looked so scared._

Oh he was absolutely fucked.

_During year 66, Scythe has 91 initials on his back and 17 of them are blood red. 15 of them are a deep blue._

_He repeats 15 blue and their full names before he falls asleep each night._

_When he wakes up, he utters 17 red and their full names._

~~_This ritual is the closest thing he has to prayer._ ~~


	2. You must learn to live with yourself

No Capitol citizen has seen his tattoos, except for his stylist and the tattoo artist of course. Anytime that Sam's back was visible, the camera angle changed.

Sam didn't know why it wasn't shown. Probably something about it being too provoking.

Razor, or Eddie, as Scythe now calls him, is the first real adult to see the tattoos. And that's really only because Scythe still, technically, needs his mentor's permission. 

He can tell by Eddie's shocked expression that the grieving tattoos are not popular in every part of District 9. Eddie keeps his mouth shut and lets Scythe squeeze his hand until his bones click strangely.

Halfway through, when Scythe is sniffling and his knuckles have turned white with tension, Eddie speaks. "How'd you get them to let you do this?"

Scythe shrugs and hisses through his teeth at the wave of pain that goes up his spine.

It's a lie, only in the ways that matter.

Eddie doesn't push it and Scythe is thankful that Eddie either knows well enough to leave it alone or doesn't know that he's lying.

Scythe is thankful anyway and he looks down and pretends that the pain is the reason why he's crying.

The tattoo artist places a giant swatch of gauze over Scythe's back and tells Scythe that he can take off the bandage in a week.

Eddie and Scythe head back to the tower in a car. It's too quiet for Scythe's taste.

He's used to the hum of the engine, the squeal of the tires, the clashing of metal whenever they hit a bump or pothole. He's used to spaces felling full, used to crowds and humid spaces.

The emptiness of the Capitol unnerves him.

The rooms are too large, and the echoes of laughter sound lonely and loom over everything else, like a church bell ringing at night.

The bed is too large and Scythe doesn't sleep on it. He instead pulls his blankets and pillow into his closet and sleeps pressed against the back wall. Every instinct that he has screams at him to take up as little space as possible, that his siblings will need to sleep in the same space as him.

He wakes up at night cause his room is too quiet and that means that something is _wrong_ because _why can't he hear his family breathing?_

Sometimes he sleeps in the pool room because the water makes enough noise that he knows that his family is safe, in whatever part of his brain exists between sleep and consciousness.

Even the people are empty.

The older Victor's have a dead glaze in their eyes, something that shows that they are not present in the moment. 

The Avox's look like shells and husks, a lifetime of being in the Capitol draining them of anything that made them alive.

Even some Capitol citizens are empty. They have conversations made out of cotton candy and nicotine clouds. They dress in mirrors and glass. They are unfocused and giggly and they look through Scythe as if he's not real.

Maybe he isn't anymore.

Eddie speaks up. "17 names?"

Scythe nods from his corner in the car. It's close to the window and he can hear other cars pass by.

"Thought you only offed 16 in the arena."

Scythe squeezes his eyes shut.

"It's not that simple," he says and his voice breaks. He begs himself to not think about it. Not right now.

"Okay," is all Eddie says and it's a burden off his shoulders.

~~_Why are you fighting? You know you feel better when subdued._ ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all enjoy the update!! stay safe!!


	3. Have mercy on me.

It's one of those nights again.

He padded down the hallway and heads for the pool room.

It's winter now. 

But the pool room must be at least 85 degrees Fahrenheit.

Heated to perfection for the Capitol's citizens.

He's used to cold water in the winter. He's used to breaking sheets of ice and carrying them inside for his family to boil. He's used to de-frosting plants and to fearing frostbite.

It's humid in the room and it weighs heavy on his shoulders.

Avoxes file in soon after.

He feels bad that they have to watch over him.

He's so used to being the caretaker that doing things like this makes him feel awful.

_I have to make sure that I'm okay too._

It feels selfish to think that.

He rolls up his pant legs and sits on the ledge of the pool.

Steam rises from the water.

It's too hot in the room and when he inhales the air feels thick. It sits like rocks in his lungs.

It's too hot in the room and sweat runs down his back like rivers of lava.

It's too hot in the room and his heart is racing.

It's too hot in the room and he sees his reflection in the pool. It's grotesque.

It's too hot in the room and his shirt is sitting too close to his skin. He peels it off.

It's too hot in the room and he's trying desperately to convince himself that he's safe, that the Games are over, that he's safe, that _he's fucking safe_ -

So why does he feel like he's dying?

There's this horrible choking wheezing sound and it reminds him of when Alex has his attacks, but Alex isn't here and the Avoxes are there with him, but they aren't making that noise, it's _him_.

He's pulling at his hair now.

One of the Avoxes step forward. He can hear them walk towards him.

There's a new terror that runs through his head now and he hates that he doesn't know the answer to it.

When the Avox gently pulls his hands away from his head, he starts begging.

"Please get away, I might hurt you, I might hurt you, I don't know if I will, please please please-"

He's sobbing.

"Please, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to, I didn't mean to, please forgive me, please forgive me, I'm sorry Im sorry imsorry imsorryimsorry."

His words run together and past and present blend together.

The Avox places her hand between his shoulder blades.

He shudders under her touch.

But he lets her because he needs to be comforted.

She breathes in and out loudly and he does his best to copy it.

It takes him 30 minutes to get his breathing under control.

He feels drained like he had just done a full day of work.

Her hand is still on his back.

Scythe doesn't mind it.

He hasn't hugged anyone in days, so this is a welcome experience.

The room is still and quiet and she removes her hand, only to place her index finger on the first letter of his tattoo.

She runs her fingers over each letter.

Scythe waits until she's done.

"Thank you," He whispers.

He turns to look at her. She makes some hand gestures that he doesn't understand.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." And he truly is.

He wants to understand.

"I think that I have almost all the letters of the alphabet on my back. Do you think that you could tap out your name for me?"

She nods.

L-A-R-I-D-I-A.

"Laridia?" He says, and he sees a smile bloom on her face. It's real and honest and more beautiful than anything the Capitol could ever manufacture.

He turns to the other Avoxes. "And what are your names?"

They are Mark and Alistar.

Alistar is a young boy who seems to have come from the Capitol.

Mark is old and is from District 2.

Laridia hails from District 9 and Scythe's heart aches when she explains that she was only born there and that she had been an Avox all her life.

She bears a striking resemblance to the district hero. She tells them that they're related. She tells him that she wasn't supposed to be born in District 9, that she was born earlier to her mother.

She tells him so much. She speaks through guttural sounds and taps on inked skin. Scythe can tell that she would rather sign her words and he vows to learn ASL.

In exchange, he tells her about home. The rolling wheat fields, the heat of the sun. The wonder of harvest time, the community that is built year after year. 

He tells of the rituals of recipes, the meanings of meals. He tells the story of the names on his back.

When it comes to the last initial written on his back, he falters. But he still tells it.

_He didn't know that he was out of the Games or maybe he did know. But in that moment, he couldn't tell._

_It was a nurse. But Scythe only saw a threat, not a 28-year-old man who had helped treat over 70 people._

_There was no excuse for the death of Simon Maxwell._

_It will always lay heavy on his soul. As it should._

He finishes telling the story and Laridia places a hand on his arm.

She hugs him, and Alistar and Mark join in soon.

He falls asleep in the fetal position, next to the edge of the pool.

When he wakes up, there is a different trio of Avoxes.

He asks for their names too. They give them to him, with wary taps on his back.

He sits in the library and pours over the book.

He practices for a week.

Laridia cries with tears of joy when he shows her.

It's the best thing he's done in weeks because it's something selfless.

He sees Eddie that afternoon.

"You doing good?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, I'm okay." It no longer feels like a lie. But it's not the truth either.

~~_Forgiveness is something that you have to earn. It is not given lightly, so work for it. Show that you deserve to be forgiven._ ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter out boys! Tell me what you think!! And if anyone thinks that I might've crossed a line tell me and I will edit my work. Stay safe and thanks for reading!!


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